dusk beneath douglas

i sit in my spot, big doug fir root in the small of my back. high enough to see across the lake , into the marsh, through the trees; on the aural periphery of the farmhouse, the barns, the field below, and the vast bordered view before me. blackbird. chirp. twee---.ererii (rising in sylables). ch.ch.ch.ch.ch. mosquito. wooden spoon on a metal bowl. bhaaaaa. oh-er-ee. wind making small waves in the water with hit against the lakeshore plants. mosquitos with black and white striped legs, small and fast: mosquitos from japan or vice versa. ... how to walk gently, which is to observe. to be sure of ones steps, because you, with a thinking head and heart and spirit and truth, are going that way.
the way the path the flow. and sometimes one must paddle hard to not smash upon the rocks again. (to stand in the freezing water and break yourself on a riddle of your own making.
To dream; to pan the living clay you are and find gold in it.) and sometimes, it is a sweet floating sunday afternoon.
birds seem to mate, to partner and pair. i wonder if some stay together, and some split ways. i wonder if these are the details they chat about in the trees together, sing across the lake at dusk. and then i listen. gentle sparce ch-- ch-- ch--. they hear me listening and quieten down, like that brainwave monitor that murray was talking about where they connect your brain to some machine which is makes sound sustained by a single brainwave; when the brainwave fails, the sound changes or stop.
now that i have carried myself away again they have continued. and fall quiet.
southwest wind. warm. the trollump of horses hooves resonates through the groundwater. the splash of a fish jump. the sound of small waves hitting the long expanse of firm log. the world begins to take on orange hues. My friend, Corey, once said that writing in a negiation with God. First, it is god's word, and they are not yours. Then, you write, and say, Oh please, just let this flow, please God let me use these words to translate my thought. I will give them all back when I am done, I just need them for a moment. So then one day God asks for them all back. But, well, they're yours now and no one can take them away because you wrote them down.
blackbird trill. female i think. tree bird soliloquay. soliloquies of wind and breeze (saul williams). little marsh bird. a pair of ducks agree and pull off the water. little tree bird. frogs begin. water lapping on cattails and hardhack. little tree bird. big tree songbird. frogs. light dims. pen seems to fade. the continual cycle of something into nothing and back out again.